mychai's Diaryland Diary

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The Day A (non-familial) Woman's Boob Turned JP Off

Did you happen to catch that Anna Nicole Smith attempt at being the Osbournes?

For a brief second-- No, scratch that. For the full thirty minutes of the show, I knew what it must be like to be gay. To look at a woman who is posing sexually for the camera and be completely disgusted. Ozzy Osbourne doesn't come across as Einstein, but he seems to have more brains in his little toe than Anna Nicole seems to have in her whole nipple-popping body.

Granted, he could have gained a few when he bit the head off of that bat. But still... He's not a complete blooming idiot who thinks his old sexual desire stayed with him when he ballooned over three-hundred pounds.

Ladies... if you are depending on your sexual draw as a means for living, it will get you through your late teens and through most of your twenties. Perhaps your younger thirties will get you the "Where Is She Now" touring circuit. But when you start to weigh more than the limo that is driving you around, and when you start marrying 90 year-old men, these are goods signs that your career as a sex object is pretty much over.

One word describes Anna Nicole Smith.

Damn.


I went down to the Lake of the Ozarks on Friday. I got a little bit of sun. Not much, but a little.

If I were food, I'd be considered just a little spicy.

I did some swimming. I did some shopping. I did some eating. I came home.

I bought my last clothes for the summer. I got a pair of shorts because every single pair of shorts I own have something wrong with them.

For instance, while I was home, I went and bought a pair of shorts because all of my others were pretty darn loose. My mother's washing machine still holds a grudge from a few years ago when I tried to do my entire wardrobe in one wash. If you knew how many articles of clothing I own, you would understand this appliance's anger.

Just an illustration: I find it easier to buy a new shirt than spend a day doing laundry.

Anyway, so my mom's washer holds pens somewhere. It's a sneaky sumbitch. Because I check to make sure all of my pockets are clean, and that there are no pens in the machine before inlisting its help.

But sure as shootin', I pull out my BRAND NEW pair of shorts from the wash (they are from the GAP, mind you) and it has ink stains all over it. I have no clue where they came from.

So, on Friday, I bought yet another pair of shorts. Eddie Bauer was having a sale. Had to be done.

I also bought two new shirts from the GAP. Add this to my new haircut, and the fact that for the first time in my life I bought hair gel, and I am now sporting a super-kewl cell phone with "Dixie" as the ring tone.

I'm becoming a trendy little dude.

Cripes. Now I have to start listening to Britney and N*SYNC.

Maybe that whole "mullet" thing was a good idea.


Yes, I have "Dixie" as my ring tone. Must remember my roots.


I made Chicken Cooked in Milk tonight. I totally cooked from a recipe, thanks to Jamie Oliver, my one-and-only mancrush. He said it was good, so I had to try it. And it wasn't bad. His description hit the nail pretty square on the head: A slightly odd, but really fantastic combination...

Oh. I did a lot of searching around. I found his address.

Remind me to tell you the story of when I found the phone number of another cooking TV idol of mine. He was really popular back in the 80s.

Called his house, I did.

But, that's another story for another day. Right now, I need to go stick pins in my eyes as so I can never see Anna Nicole Smith's nipples flopping out of her top ever again.

9:50 p.m. - Sun., Aug. 4, 2002

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